Fire and Ice
by Moony8193
Summary: you raise your eyes to his cold, green ones and feel hatred rise within you like bile. You are mortal enemies, yet you meet here, every night, before the first dawn yawns across the horizon, and dance. RRSS repost


**Disclaimer: **I do not, and never will, own Harry Potter, unless somehow I am J.K. Rowling's eldest long lost daughter she has been searching for her entire life.

For Kristen, my other (ff) half. 3

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He hums softly as he spins you under his arm. Your feet are so intricately spinning and stepping and whirling the colors blur and the edges of your vision sharpen, showing you the world as it is meant to be seen, yet how everyone refuses to see it.

"_This will never work,"_ he whispers into your hair, and you raise your eyes to his cold, green ones and feel hatred rise within you like bile, the feeling that is natural, that is impossible to suppress. You are mortal enemies, yet you meet here, every night, before the first dawn yawns across the horizon, and dance. You swirl across the Great Hall with every move easily. Never once has he stepped on your toes, so elegant in satin slippers. Never have you tried to lead. Your opposite polar magnets keep you in tune, more beautiful than any swan or magic spell you've ever seen.

"_I frighten you,"_ he muses into the stillness of the golden room. You catch your breath, but keep your silence. _"You never were much good at lies, Rowena."_

"_I do not lie,"_ you speak softly, so softly the rise and fall of wind outside seems to steal your voice. _"It is only you, dear Salazar, that indulges in monstrosities and falsehoods."_

His deep chuckling laugh bites into your soul, your very essence, and you shiver, feeling so bare and laid before him, his mind your playground to explore.

Still never once do your feet stop moving, whirring, prancing, being. Everything is thrown in such clear relief from here inside his arms. Perhaps, you muse, this is why you come. To escape the distorted image that seems to be your life, your legend, and see how it really is, from the side no one takes the time to understand.

"_You will leave,"_ you say flatly as he dips you backwards so that your sleek, black hair skates across the floor. _"You will walk away like the coward you are, instead of biting down and bending." _

"_I do not bend,"_ he hisses, as he bends near in half to twirl you.

"_No. You run." _

You take in the smell of his robes, that acidic scent that burns your nostrils like a flame, like a problem you just can't work out. He is a problem you just can't fathom.

"_And what of you?"_ he asks, bringing you closer to him, so close you choke on the feeling of rawness, of wrongness, this seems to reek of.

"_I will stay,"_ you answer quietly, though you know that is not what he wants to know. You lean your head back and inhale the staleness of the air, of time frozen slowly, wholly, in a moment that will never be shared, that will be guarded against all knowledge, that, and you shiver slightly at the thought, will only be kept by the darkness of night, and what it holds.

Darkness oozes from his every pore. That is his scent, his flavor. You taste the bitterly sweetness of it. _So_, you think, _this is what it is to be bad_.

Night will keep your secrets forever eternal, and only Hogwarts, will be the listener. Night will listen to the horrors the walls whisper of, the rustles of silk skirt and dark robe upon ancient floors. The sadness that daylight steals away all wistfulness, all passion. And so, the night will listen, and Hogwarts will collect, and years will pass full of hidden, darkened memories the world fears to see. Perhaps, things make less sense in brightness than they do in darkness.

"_You will stay,"_ he bites slowly, like poison spreading from a wound as you dance. _"You will stay in this rotting castle, with him." _

You stay silent for several moments and imagine when you dance with Godric. Every step is urgent, and passionate, and dear, in a way this would never be.

"_I love him,"_ you answer sadly. Sad that he would never measure up, be like him.

"_Does he dance like I do?"_ he whispers into your ear, his cold lips pressed against your throat.

_No, _you tell the night, ebbing and flowing around you, _he dances better._

"_No,"_ you tell him, _"You dance very differently."_

"_We are very different,"_ he says, his lips resting on your cheek. You shudder against the vile feeling that envelops you at his closeness. You twirl out of his arms, twirl until you are in position for your favorite dance, the one you do best with Godric.

"_The El Zorango,"_ he tells the night quietly, like an audience, an eager child.

"_While Godric is passion, motion, love,"_ you couple the words with your movements, _"You are reserved, cold, hatred."_

"_Stop,"_ he says abruptly, backing away as though burnt, _"I hate this dance."_

"_You may learn to love it,"_ you whisper, twirling in succession, moving with an invisible partner across the floor. The bile in your throat seems to dissipate without him near. The world loses that sparkling, diamond sharp vision you possessed. You clap your delicate hands in time to the music, while he watches you, standing still.

"_You choose fire,"_ he says slowly. _"You choose warmth over cold, fire over ice."_

You stop in midmotion, watching him through lidded, beautiful eyes. Everything about you, about this place, your destiny, is beautiful. You close your eyes.

"_I hate the cold,"_ you admit to the night. You admit to renouncing, to despising the soft kisses, the breath in your ear, the cold hands on your flesh. You admit to the shudders that shook you when he was too near, the bile in your throat.

His eyes are cold, hard, diamonds. _He must always see so clearly, without blurs, distortions, tea stained on paper. _

"_I sicken you,"_ he says flatly. His voice is a dagger to your skin, a cold steel blade upon your soul. The tears you always hold slip down your creamy cheeks.

You open your eyes, but refuse to meet his gaze.

"_This will never work,"_ you quote into the darkness, the keeper of all secrets.

"_Yes,"_ he answers coldly, _"this will never work."_

"_I must go,"_ you tell the night, the darkness, the frozen time beginning to thaw with briars drawing blood surrounding it. _"I must return."_

He looks at you with eyes full of cold. You wish he would become angry.

"_You return to Godric, and to safety, and to a life of happiness."_ He is accusing you, in his own way. You're not sure of what.

"_I return to what I love,"_ you answer, setting one delicate foot upon the marble stairs. Quietly to the darkness, you add, _you return to what I hate._

He knows what secret you have corrupted the darkness with. You know tomorrow when you see him, everything will be different. _Everything will be the way it's supposed to be. _

"_Goodbye, Miss Ravenclaw."_ He refuses to look away. He holds your gaze, prolonging that bile taste upon your lips, the shudder raking your body.

"_Salazar,"_ you whisper into the darkness. But he is gone. Gone to what daylight will see as an absurd possibility to even consider.

You climb the steps with grace all others envy. You reach the room you love. You embrace the heat he exuberates, the sense of good from every pore he owns. You inhale the happiness lingering upon the air, the sweet, sweet taste of rosebuds and love that represent him to you.

His arm snakes around you as you crawl back into bed.

"_Were the house-elves kind, tonight?"_ he murmurs into your neck. The sensation chases away all fear, all cold. You curl into his arms, the image of diamond-hard orbs imprinted into your eyelids.

"_No,"_ you answer quietly, _"Not as nice as usual, my love, my Godric." _

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Like it? Hate it? Adore it? Love it?

-danielle


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